


In This Sin Forever

by killualovesgon



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Dirty Talk, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Inexperience, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25986232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killualovesgon/pseuds/killualovesgon
Summary: “Killua?”Gon’s melodic voice was closer to a whisper now, but the stream of his breath so unexpectedly close to Killua’s face startled him upright, and he turned to face the dark-haired boy kneeling by his bed. The setting sun fused with the soft shadows of the room, and Killua could only make out the copper glow floodlighting half of his face.“Gon?”“Have you ever kissed anyone?”//(Or, Killua tries out flirting advice from Cosmopolitan on Gon with varying success and gets carried away.)
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 9
Kudos: 307





	In This Sin Forever

Crashing at Leorio’s had its perks. Soft mattresses. An in-unit washer and dryer. Real food within arm’s reach. But if Killua was being honest, it was the high-speed internet access that really kept him from leaving. After all, he and Gon weren’t expected anywhere—not for a long time, anyway—and Leorio did seem earnest when he encouraged the two to stay as long as they needed. 

Still, Killua’s nights weren’t always as quiet as he wished. Leorio had a snore that could rattle wine glasses, and Gon’s nighttime mumbling wasn’t the easiest thing to ignore. So on one especially peace-less night, he walked silently out of his shared room, listened carefully to make sure the aging door’s squeaking hinges didn’t rattle Leorio awake from the other side of the too-small apartment, and set himself up with a laptop on the couch. 

He sunk into the worn secondhand cushions. Leorio’s home had a nose-burning aroma of cigarettes when Gon and Killua first settled in, but he had been good about masking it—to Killua, at least. And besides, he figured he’d be back to bed soon enough. 

But YouTube was the closest thing to hypnotism Killua had ever experienced. His fingers keep clicking away until he can’t remember what the first video he watched was. A skit, he faintly recalled. Something about cats knocking things off shelves? They all blurred into one extended video as the hours ticked by. So when he stumbled across a real-life enactment of Cosmopolitan dating advice, he silently wondered how exactly he got to this part of the Internet before clicking play. 

_If you’re having dessert, dip your finger into the icing or whipped cream and lick it off while eyeing your crush._

So, Killua thought, we’re just going to ignore silverware now?

_Draw attention to your mouth. Get pouty and keep lip balm or lip gloss handy at all times. When you see your crush, put some on._

Who could remember that?

_Master the “bump and flatter.” Try to accidentally bump into your crush, laugh coyly, and say something like: “Sorry, I get klutzy around cute boys.”_

No way a real human would actually say that out loud. 

_Compliment them! Boys love getting their egos stroked. If he’s wearing a cute outfit, let him know._

Flashes of green passed through Killua’s mind, and he thought of the viridian world of Whale Island. Green hills, greener forests, and the way Gon always seemed one step away from blending into the greenery himself—if not for his sunlit smile and gleaming eyes and—

Killua pushed the laptop off himself. The sun was bound to come up in another hour or two, and he didn’t exactly feel up for a tag-team interrogation on why his bed wasn’t good enough. Or what he was doing that late. Or what was keeping him up. 

He retired to the bedroom and was greeted with the quiet murmur of Gon’s dreamy snooze. He settled into the thin covers, faced Gon’s bed, and waited for sleep to find him.

//

“Gon, either you start doing your own laundry around here or you get yourself something else to wear,” Leorio grumbled with half-a-mouthful of breakfast.

“I _do_ laundry!” Gon retorted. 

“Oh, yeah? Tell me why you smell like a wet sock, then.” 

“Do not!”

“Killua, back me up here.”

Killua had all but blocked the other two out, focusing on testing the limits of his pancake-to-syrup ratio. “Huh?”

“Tell me he smells weird,” Leorio implored, pointing at Gon’s direction like he was asking Killua to clean up a spill. 

Gon’s arms spread with wordless invitation, and Killua moved in to verify. Socks weren't his first impression—Gon was a heady blend of earth and verdure and something else. Nothing Killua took issue with.

“Smells fine to me.”

Leorio’s eyes nearly disappeared into his head. Clearly not what he wanted to hear. “Well, if you’re not doing anything today—and I _know_ you’re not—go buy something else to wear. Or do laundry. Or, actually, knock yourselves out with both.”

“ _My_ laundry’s clean!” Killua defended. No sense for Leorio to drag both of them.

“Great. So you can make sure the other one does the same.”

Killua wanted to protest the task. But he wasn’t about to stick it to the person putting a roof over their heads for little more than the promise that they wouldn’t break anything, and besides—the airless summer heat had forced him down to his last shirt, too. 

He nodded in acceptance and took to tipping the scales in the maple syrup’s favor. His sugary greed nearly flooded his plate, and the syrup overflowed onto Killua’s fingers. Leorio had already bolted out the door for class by then, so Killua was free from a third (or was it fourth?) edition of his “use a napkin” lecture. He drew his hand up and licked the syrup off before it dried into a sticky cast.

“Killua?”

“Hmm?” Killua mumbled from his syrup clean-up. 

“Tell me we’re not actually going shopping,” Gon appealed, eyes wide with pleading hope. Killua wasn’t sure if it was the syrup coating his throat or something else, but he watched speechlessly as Gon’s eyes flicked down to his mouth.

Killua retracted his now-clean fingers and wiped them onto the fabric of his shorts. “He’ll totally notice if you keep wearing the same thing.”

“Couldn’t I just borrow some of yours?”

Killua’s face burned like a furnace sat just under the surface of his skin, and he thanked the sensible part of him that came up with a reasonable excuse. “Pretty sure turtlenecks aren’t your thing.”

Gon groaned and tipped his chair to lean against the wall behind him. He stared into the ceiling like he could extrapolate some sort of justification for getting around Leorio’s request. When nothing came, he breathed a chagrined sigh. “We’ll make it fast, right?”

“Lightspeed.”

//

“Not if my life depended on it,” Gon disputed, and Killua returned the yellow tank to its rack. Killua held just two semi-approved shirts over his forearm, patiently sifting through the neatly arranged shelves for something else.

“I’d rather wear one of Leorio’s suits,” and with that, Killua folded the shorts back onto their pile.

“Seriously, I can get by with what I have,” Gon had barely looked at the jacket before Killua had to drape it back onto the hanger. 

Killua went back to the rack where Gon had the fewest complaints. It had already been restocked since they entered the store, and Killua silently wondered just how long they had been pacing up and down the aisles. He pulled up two options this time—a ribbed green tee and a pair of denim shorts—and waited for Gon’s disapproval.

Gon analyzed the two pieces with a higher degree of scrutiny than before. Killua had nearly burned a hole in his shoes from hunting through the store, and he was itching for _some_ acquiescence. He placed the shirt up to Gon’s chest, studying the pale mint against his olive skin. 

_Compliment them! Boys love getting their egos stroked. If he’s wearing a cute outfit, let him know._

“This one…” Killua began, not knowing why his 3:00 AM discovery was suddenly front-and-center. He searched for the example the girl in the video had used, but gave in to the only thing he could think of. “…brings out your eyes, Gon.”

Gon found Killua’s rattled gaze and held it there, a smile breaking across his face like a sunset setting the clouds on fire. He took the shirt from Killua’s hands in acceptance.

“If you really think so, Killua.”

//

_Let him catch you looking at him. When he does, smile back or even wink. You’ll come across confident and alluring._

Killua wasn’t intending on actually using Cosmo’s advice. Not deliberately, anyway. But he couldn’t quiet the memory of Gon’s fascinated expression, of his eyes on his lips—and Killua thought if he could test out another tip, maybe he could end the experiment before it went too far. Although, he hadn’t yet decided what constituted “too far.” So, he scrolled on, scoffing here and there and occasionally taking down a mental note. 

_Instigate contact, but keep it brief! Touch his shoulder or nudge him. It’ll leave him wanting more._

Maybe, Killua reasoned, he was curious to see just how ridiculous the suggestions could get. Or, if he allowed himself to think for too long, what he’d be willing to try in a more serious way.

_Don’t use pick-up lines. Guys love gentle teasing, so try to make cheeky jokes about something he said to add playfulness to the conversation._

Killua had lost which tip he was on when Gon charged into their room and leaned against the closed door. Killua wasn’t sure if the dubiously quick closing of his laptop was obvious.

“Leorio said Kurapika’s coming over for dinner,” Gon finally spoke.

“And?”

“And apparently we ‘look like street urchins,’” Gon emphasized with air quotations, “so we should get dressed.”

“ _We_ look like street urchins?”

“I know. That’s what I said.”

Killua was glad for a break from his Cosmo-induced trance. “Fine. Toss me something less urchin-y.” 

Gon sifted through the closet, the clanking of hangers going on for what seemed like minutes. He sighed. “Don’t you have anything other than turtlenecks?” 

_Gentle teasing,_ Killua recalled. He hadn’t expected to put his newfound knowledge to work so soon, but Gon had set the stage too well for him to pass up.

“What would you rather I wear, Gon?” 

Killua hoped his voice relayed confidence rather than amateurishness, so when Gon turned back to catch Killua’s waiting look, he wasn’t entirely sure that had landed. Embarrassment warred with curiosity, so Killua waited until the line settled on one side of the fence or the other.

Gon wasn’t exactly one for stunned silence, but when he spoke, he had to work to find his voice. “He’s setting up dinner outside. And it’s a bit warm.” In the dim room, Killua couldn’t be sure if the bloom of red across Gon’s cheeks was from the heat. “So, maybe…wear a little less.”

The air shifted, and Killua felt a faint electric charge run through the four-walled room. Static bolted through his hair and into the tips of his fingers. 

“If you do the same.”

//

The two hoped their hasty goodbyes to Kurapika read as eagerness to go to bed rather than rudeness, rationalizing that their excessive yawning was proof enough for a swift retreat to their room. Leorio wasn’t about to question them—this was far from the oddities he had observed during their stay—so their dash back inside was thankfully free from contention.

Wordlessly, Killua stepped out of his shoes and watched as Gon did the same from the edge of his bed. Like a mirror, Gon rested his elbows on his knees and flipped his eyes up to catch Killua in a snare. His expression was like a prolonged crack of thunder—filling Killua’s mind with booming irrationality. 

Killua had tried his luck possibly too much in one night, going so far as to—per Cosmo’s suggestion—instigate brief contact. And as he thought back, he concluded he might have stretched the limits of how much that tip could really be used in succession.

He held his heel against Gon’s throughout dinner. Brushed up against his forearm when he passed condiments across the table. Grabbed onto Gon’s finger when he had pointed something out. 

Maybe he should have spaced these out better. Give Gon a chance to breathe and let the attempts settle. But impatience ran through Killua’s blood faster than oxygen, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to wait for the implications of his attempts to wane—he wanted them to speak _for_ him with the bright, redolent truth he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. 

But when Gon pulled the covers up to his chest, Killua sunk into the uncomfortable realization that maybe he was overzealous in his execution. He mimicked Gon, tucking himself away into the sheets like they would turn him invisible. 

“Killua?”

The quiet of the room magnified Gon’s voice to a near-deafening pitch. 

“Yeah?”

Saying exactly what was on his mind was Gon’s specialty, and by now, Killua should have been used to his matter-of-factness. “You looked really good tonight.” Should have.

Killua hoped the silence on his end of the room was shorter than it felt. But he wasn’t sure what tone was appropriate here—and if he waited a moment longer, he thought the sudden current in the room would vaporize him. “Not urchin-y?”

“Far from it,” Gon shifted his weight to face Killua’s direction, and Killua felt strangely warm under his curious gaze. “But I think you’re always pretty, Killua.” 

This level of forwardness wasn’t something Cosmo suggested, nor did it warn Killua it may happen. So when he was forced to answer on his own, he wasn’t left with many options. 

“What?”

“I mean,” the marked clarity in Gon’s voice had Killua reeling. “You did take my advice.”

“Your advice?”

“To wear less.”

Killua could’ve played that off with a comment about the torrid summer heat. But Gon had backed him into a corner, and he was out of strategies, and his head was boiling, and the tingling in his fingers was rising up to his shoulders and spreading across his chest like embers. 

So, frankness it was.

“Are you flirting with me, Gon?” 

Killua wasn’t sure if he should be satisfied or uneasy that Gon’s half of the room had gone quiet. After all, he had done the same to him, and it was only fair he return the non-favor, but he couldn’t gauge the success of his quips this way. 

“What if I was?”

Killua was ready for a _yes_ or a _no._ He wasn’t exactly sure he had enough comebacks in him before he descended into drivel. But the musical intonation in Gon’s voice was Killua’s personal symphony, and he sung along. 

“Then I’d have to flirt back.”

“And you haven’t been?”

_Shit_. Killua felt like the covers had been ripped off of him, but if the point of flirting wasn’t to be found out, then what was it for at all?

“I might’ve.”

“I think you’re pretty good at it, Killua,” Gon was sitting up now, leg hooked under the other, eyes fixed on Killua. “Where’d it come from?”

“Maybe I’m just that good,” Killua could hardly recognize the boldness in his voice, but if he was suddenly in possession of a stranger’s confidence, he might as well stretch it for all it was worth.

“But what brought it on?” Gon’s voice held some genuine curiosity, but his question carried the suggestive undertone of _why was it all for him?_

Killua eased into his false casualness, and responded honestly. “You.”

Unease turned into smugness—to Gon, at least—but the knots in Killua’s stomach wouldn’t untangle no matter which approach he took, and the prickling fever-heat in his cheeks was making thinking nearly impossible. 

There was a wooden creak on Gon’s corner of the room, the old bed frame protesting his movements. Then, the gentle padding of feet across the floorboards. The window slung open from the unsteady air outside, letting in a humid breeze that turned the too-thick atmosphere into soup.

“Killua?”

Gon’s melodic voice was closer to a whisper now, but the stream of his breath so unexpectedly close to Killua’s face startled him upright, and he turned to face the dark-haired boy kneeling by his bed. The setting sun fused with the soft shadows of the room, and Killua could only make out the copper glow floodlighting half of his face.

“Gon?”

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

“No,” Killua responded dryly, unsuccessfully keeping his voice from croaking. 

“Oh,” Gon seemed almost pleased with the answer, as if he hadn’t prepared himself for the alternative. “I haven’t either. But, I think…”

“You think you’d like to?”

Gon could only nod, and he gestured for permission to sit on Killua’s bed. “I think I’d like to,” he began, and Killua couldn’t remember the last time his voice sounded so small, like he was about to ask for something unreasonable. “With you, Killua.”

Killua’s mind was in two places. In one, he was privately cursing himself out for not reading about what comes after flirting—what happens if he’s successful and what happens if both parties play along. And in the other, he wondered where his phony smugness had gone, why Gon had cleared Killua’s mind of every word he had ever known, so all he could think about was closing the gap between them. 

It would be so easy to do, he rationalized. He could move into Gon’s space and take his hand into his own, urge him closer. He could yank at the thin fabric of Gon’s shirt, likely damp from the sticky August air, and bring his bottom lip into his mouth.

Tight heat coiled in his stomach and no matter how easy it seemed, Killua was paralyzed under Gon’s stupefying stare. He couldn’t move—but he could speak. 

“I’d like to kiss you, Gon.”

He wasn’t sure who moved first. Once Gon’s near-searing hand was on his neck, Killua had become blind to almost everything else. So when he did hook his finger under the collar of Gon’s shirt and pulled him in, the impact of Gon’s mouth against his own was startling—and thrilling.

Soft, inexperienced lips floundered against one another at first, careful and unsure, mapping out uncharted territory with experimental movements. But Gon pressed on like he had seen in movies, hoping Killua would let him explore. And he did, opening his mouth to encourage Gon’s tongue inside, happy to taste more of him. Hesitancy went out the window, and Killua scraped his nails against Gon’s scalp in a needy invitation to try more—and Gon wasn’t ready to part any time soon. He crossed what distance was left until his knees were hooked around Killua’s hips, urging him down onto the mattress, and slid a hand from the sharp angle of Killua’s jaw down onto his throat and finally rested it on his chest. 

It was Killua who broke first—inhaling sharply and drawing Gon back slightly to gauge his expression. He was met with heavily lidded amber eyes, and Gon rolled his hips to sit back up on the bed, freeing Killua to do the same. A dense breath of wind cycled in, deepening the sweet, gluey scent of Gon and Killua’s shared air. 

“Gon,” Killua found some semblance of his voice, and Gon’s face seemed to sparkle at the broken articulation of his own name. “Can we try that again?”

//

Killua moved about the apartment as normal for a few days after—except for the bubbling heat in his stomach that’d compel him to stop what he was doing whenever Gon walked by. Too close, always too close, he’d pass by Killua with two hands on his waist or just one cursory touch on the shoulder. Killua couldn’t be sure he was permitted to do the same—or if he could execute those easy touches nearly as gracefully. 

But in truth, he could hardly keep himself from dropping dishes or absentmindedly vacuuming the same corner of the dining room two, three, forty times when nightfall came—because he knew Gon would find him, careful to make sure Leorio was out of view, and draw his mouth up to Killua’s ear and breathe a proposition to meet him in their bedroom when he was finished. 

Keeping Leorio none the wiser was the objective as the days followed, but on one night, Leorio suggested the three of them watch a new thriller that just came out. He seemed authentic in his interest for the film Killua had already forgotten the name of as soon as it came out of Leorio’s mouth, and all three were eager to get out of the confined apartment before it swallowed them whole. 

Gon, however, seemed to have a different idea in mind when the trailers at last ended. With Leorio’s eyes fixed on the motion picture, he decided Killua would be his entertainment—and a much better source at that. After all, the closest movie goers were at least ten aisles away.

He was brave, but he wasn’t about to break some unspoken theater rule. So, he pulled Killua’s hand into his own at first, always a bit taken aback by how easily Killua’s slim fingers fit between the spaces of his own, and he held him in place. Killua’s skin responded hungrily, soaking up the enduring warmth of Gon’s hand and tightening his grip. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gon’s lips curl into a smile, eyes still locked on the screen in an impressive display of false interest. 

Killua, by this point, wasn’t ready to proclaim expert status, but he had done more research since, and he craved to watch Gon’s façade slip—or at least watch him struggle to keep up the appearance. He untangled their fingers and moved his freed hand onto Gon’s mid-thigh, pausing to let the heat from his skin soak through. But Gon was good, and Killua wasn’t about to accept his unbothered expression. 

He glanced over to Leorio a seat away, marked his focused interest in the film, and cautiously allowed his hand to travel toward Gon’s inner thigh, slow enough to catch the crumbling resolve on Gon’s face. His twisted smile, the vacuous darkness in his eyes, the nibble of teeth over his mouth—Killua reveled proudly in them all. 

He pulled away. Keeping his hands to himself for the rest of the movie wouldn’t be the easiest feat, neither would the drive home, but the promise of having Gon all to himself in just a few hours was motivation enough to save his newest tricks for later.

//

“That was totally unfair,” Gon pouted as he locked the door behind them, and Killua couldn’t help his smile from spreading over his face with cocky glee. 

“You started it.”

“Still,” Gon pulled at his thin jacket and yanked off his shoes like they were suffocating his feet. “Wasn’t part of my plan.”

Killua’s brows furrowed. Gon had kept exactly zero secrets from him, and to think he was hiding a something—no matter how benign—struck Killua with unquenchable curiosity. “What was the plan?”

Gon could move into Killua’s space comfortably by now. Killua had come to expect it—the quick locking of their lips, the tug of their shirts in each other’s fists, the stinging burn of Gon’s skin. But tonight, Gon’s stride was slow, deliberate, like he was gauging the stability of rocky ground.

“I wanted to touch you,” Gon spoke, and his usually chipper voice echoed in a deeper timbre. “And have you thinking about me for the rest of the movie.” 

“Touch me how, Gon?” Killua wasn’t sure when the air in their room had gotten so thin, leaving him licking the cracked skin of his lips. He had, according to Gon, ruined the plan, and he wasn’t about to step out of bounds and spoil it a second time. So against the suggestion of the red-hot fire blistering him from the inside out, he let Gon take the lead. 

“Maybe somewhere I haven’t before.” 

Gon was still a few inches shorter than Killua when he reached him—not by much, but the difference gave Killua an uninterrupted view at his wide, dark eyes and open mouth. There was a look of self-consciousness, Killua thought, and that made the heat in his belly snake uncomfortably into a tight helix.

“Show me where.”

Killua made a quiet, shocked sound that had him jolting half a step back when Gon pressed his palm flat against the fly of Killua’s jeans, an affirmation that he _had_ ruined Gon’s plans. His body shifted on its own, fluid beneath Gon’s hand like he was under a spell, and the urge to pull Gon’s lips into his mouth was all at once too much to ignore. He moved—though he wasn’t sure if was on his own—and his mouth crashed shamelessly into Gon’s, teeth clinking together and gnawing at each other’s lips.

There was a moment where his mouth went slack, the clouding feeling of Gon’s hand palming at him had Killua feeling like gravity was no longer keeping him centered. His hands crawled and tangled into Gon’s hair, hanging on with more desperation than Killua intended, but he was horribly unsure when his knees would give out. The sensation flooded him, and he stumbled backward onto his bed, thankful for a soft landing. 

Gon pulled his hand back, and Killua’s hips jerked involuntarily to regain the lost connection. But almost as soon as the contact was gone, Gon was looming above him, eyes focused more keenly than Killua had ever seen. The pressure of his gaze had Killua shifting restlessly, not sure how to ask to be touched again. 

“Did that feel good?”

Killua could just barely put the pieces of Gon’s sentences together in a way that made sense, too preoccupied with the impulse to have Gon’s hands on him. So when he spoke, the sounds were mangled. 

“So good, Gon.”

Gon delighted in Killua’s touch-hungry want, that much was sure, and Killua fought unsuccessfully to stifle the throbbing ache, the insistent pulse of his groin tight against the heavy fabric. But when Gon’s knees bookended his unsettled hips, Killua’s focus shifted swiftly to the pressure against his skin. Gon’s mouth found Killua’s once more, and while Killua hoped against hope it could be elsewhere, he took to licking inside the roof of Gon’s mouth and closing his teeth over his full bottom lip until he was sure he’d leave it wet and kiss-bruised. Alone, that was not enough—not nearly—but the feeling of his throbbing erection coupled with Gon’s sweet breath was overpowering. 

“Do you want more?” Gon asked, and his voice was too composed for Killua’s liking. He flinched at the words, knowing Gon wouldn’t ask if he wouldn’t give. 

“Please?” It came out as a question rather than an admission. He decided secretly he was done letting Gon have the advantage and took his hand into his own, showing him exactly where it needed to be, and bucked into the anticipated touch. “Here, please.” 

Gon complied—but quickly realized he wasn’t getting anywhere through the thick denim. He fumbled with the button fly, and Killua was already helping push the jeans over his slim hips, just enough to give Gon undisturbed access. Gon’s hand was back on Killua, now separated only by the paper-thin cotton of his boxers, and if Killua thought he could barely keep himself together before, he was flung out of orbit now.

“Oh!” Killua was on fire, the sizzling heat from Gon’s palm sending electric jolts through his veins. He dug his fingernails into Gon’s scalp and pushed his hips up and rolled them back rhythmically, learning quickly what he liked. He groaned softly into the space between Gon’s neck and shoulder, muffled by his damp skin. Gon’s mouth was on Killua’s to swallow the noise, capturing his throaty sobs in a sign of ownership. 

“Killua,” It felt like forever since Killua heard Gon’s voice, and it drove something like a dagger through his pelvis. “Do you think you could touch me, please?”

Killua looked down and felt a pang of guilt for not noticing Gon’s rigid dick trapped between the slow rutting of their bodies—and impatiently freed it from its cloth trap. It felt like hot iron in Killua’s hand and just as hard. Gon’s hips did the work for him at first, thrusting hungrily into Killua’s fist. He squeezed around it and watched with awe as Gon’s eyes shut achingly, and for a second, he wasn’t sure if he had done something wrong.

“Too much?”

“No! Feels funny, but…feels good.” That was enough encouragement for Killua to keep moving—slower this time and with a looser fist. He tugged at the length and twisted his wrist skillfully, not sure if he was in control now or Gon—not wanting to see anything ever again but Gon’s wet, parted mouth and blackened eyes. And with a greedy beg from the back of Killua’s throat, Gon’s hand reunited quickly with Killua’s groin. 

He felt like Gon was moving not nearly enough, his unhurried movements making Killua fall apart at the seams. Killua tried desperately to pull Gon onto him, as if there was any more room to give, wanting fervently to feel every bit of him and whimpering dryly against Gon’s mouth with frantic want.

As slow as Gon tried to be, he was breathing as hard as Killua. And when he caught sight of his pale blue eyes grow dark, his frenzy doubled over. He found the slit in Killua’s boxers and dragged his fever-hot hand across his exposed length like the touch of a brand. This was better—his skin was like a kiln, and Killua’s attempts at staying quiet were becoming hopeless. His voice was high and sharp now, each note sending sound waves through Gon’s body and igniting him from the inside. 

Killua couldn’t tell whose body was trembling—the two were glued together with sweat, but the joint feeling was making his toes curl and fingers nearly cut through Gon’s skin. But while Killua went tense and taut with the feeling, Gon spasmed harder in anticipation, roughly thrashing into Killua’s fist and pulling the breath straight from Killua’s lungs and into his own—and at last spilling over the white-haired boy’s navel and hand and thighs in hot spurts. 

It was enough for the tension spiraling in Killua’s groin to break free, feeling urgently returning to his strained nerves and numb fingers and toes with violent suddenness. His body felt like it was weightless for a moment, and all at once, he breathed out hard as waves of sticky come burst from him.

Killua regarded the milky come pooling between them with something like wonder and curiosity. He felt the lingering heat from his cheeks quiet for a moment as the shaking stopped and steady breathing returned. Gon’s body was still recovering from the aftershocks, every inch of him feeling raw and overly sensitive. He sank onto the open space on Killua’s bed and fought to regain his weak, distant breath. 

“Killua,” The strained effort in Gon’s voice had Killua feeling like he had overworked him, but he wasn’t sure if pride or guilt was more a appropriate reaction. 

“Yeah?”

“Can we try that again?”


End file.
